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Weekly Poetry Contest (227) Voting

Poll closed Feb 28, 2013.
  1. Hypothermia ~ seelifein69

    0 vote(s)
    0.0%
  2. An old man's wisdom senryu ~ jae shorts

    3 vote(s)
    33.3%
  3. The Tear ~ Darkkin

    5 vote(s)
    55.6%
  4. The Fieldmouse King ~ Monger

    1 vote(s)
    11.1%
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  1. Banzai
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    Banzai One-time Mod, but on the road to recovery Contributor

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    Weekly Poetry Contest (227) Voting - Old Man Winter

    Discussion in 'Bi-Weekly Poetry Contest Archives' started by Banzai, Feb 25, 2013.

    Weekly
    Poetry Contest
    Two Hundred and Twenty Seven
    Voting



    Vote, and vote often!

    And this week's theme was: (courtesy of Darkkin) Old Man Winter

    Voting will end on Thursday 28th February 2013.

    Voting for yourself is entirely at your own discretion. I'm frankly sick of discussion on the matter, so any in here will be deleted. If you want to vote for yourself, go for it, but I personally wouldn't do that unless I genuinely believed mine was the best.


    The winning poem will be stickied for a week in the poetry contest.



    Oh, and if I catch anyone cheating, their entry will be removed from the contest and you will be unable to enter a poem into the contest for a month. Sorry to be such an ogre about this, I don't want to be, but rules are rules and are in place for valid reasons. If you can not follow the rules, you face the consequences.

    Best of luck to all entrants, and happy voting.


    Banzai
     
  2. Banzai
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    Banzai One-time Mod, but on the road to recovery Contributor

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    Hypothermia
    By seelifein69


    He who kneels beyond where wanderers go,
    North of the Forest, in his realm to outgrow
    Taking each precious life to smother below
    Gasping hard for the breath of a cold wind blow

    When you’re dying, you feel warm
    Just so you know….
     
  3. Banzai
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    Banzai One-time Mod, but on the road to recovery Contributor

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    An old man's wisdom senryu
    By jae shorts


    A wound is poked raw
    Until winter wisdom states
    Stop poking it prick
     
  4. Banzai
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    Banzai One-time Mod, but on the road to recovery Contributor

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    The Tear
    By Darkkin


    It came down, swirling round
    Whispering in her ears.
    Words of wisdom
    No cynic ever hears.

    With a cloak and icy breath
    He came snow, hiding the tears.
    She with hair unbound,
    The breath of springtime in her tender years.

    Old Man howled, a frigid tantrum cast
    When that whisper he did hear.
    For it was she, this breath of spring
    She, this child, he did fear.

    Hair of flame, a sweet song of longing
    Eyes fixed upon the veil, cold and sheer.
    Snow and ice, the whole world round.
    A gentle touch, a snowflake's tear.

    Softly, deftly...A sylvan touch.
    Her herald the Zephyr's wings, she does hear.
    By drip and torrent the snows fell away.
    Leaving a brook, brimming and clear.

    Old Man Winter, a broken hold...
    He nods, surrendering for the year.
    That whisper that gave her hope.
    The murmur of wisdom in her ear.

    From the cold lips of a boy...
    Who had seen her single, speaking tear.
    Jack, the artist of the Frost...
    A gift, for the Aster he holds so dear.
     
  5. Banzai
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    Banzai One-time Mod, but on the road to recovery Contributor

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    The Fieldmouse King
    By Monger


    Under a thick blanket,
    made of cold,
    there exists a castle,
    of sorts.

    Tunnels and chambers,
    dug by tiny claws,
    attached to tiny feet,
    which are attached to a tiny furry body.
    In this castle,
    this castle of tunnels and chambers,
    painstakingly dug through the snow,
    the fieldmouse rules.
    Here, he is king.
    He has sustenance enough to feed himself,
    until the light stays longer and the roof goes away.
    He is unaware that Death stalks above him.

    Death’s name is fox,
    and she needs food.
    Food’s name is fieldmouse,
    and she knows exactly where he is.
    She doesn’t know that down there,
    he’s a king.
    She would not have cared if she had.
    Death stalks her meal for some ways,
    following him by nose,
    from above,
    as he scurries through his buried kingdom.

    Suddenly,
    the fieldmouse king’s right to his throne is challenged.
    Not my Death the fox,
    but instead by one of his own kind,
    who intends to kill him and claim his cold castle.

    Before the challenger can tear the old king's neck out,
    hungry Death makes her move.
    She pounces,
    and as if by magic,
    the thick blanket of snow that held her aloft was as a liquid,
    and she dives headfirst into the fieldmouse king’s realm.

    A piteous squeak,
    and a sharp shake of a fox’s neck,
    and the king is dead.

    The king is dead,
    Long live the king.

    Astonished by his good fortune,
    A new fieldmouse king claims his throne.
     
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